


Hang Me Up To Dry

by Suggilates



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Misuse of laundry rooms, One-Sided Attraction, Scent Kink, clothes sniffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suggilates/pseuds/Suggilates
Summary: Alfred does laundry.





	Hang Me Up To Dry

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual Thank You to Hamebone for editing!!

    Executioners were virtuous men, pure of heart, and clean of body. Once a month they would all pile their laundry up, sending it down the chute to the laundry room. The first Monday of every month, they took rotations for who would get to wash the fold’s dirty robes and linens. Alfred’s turn came this month and couldn’t bring himself to mind, he was just glad to be part of the community. The room was only lit by a few small windows, but with their shutters drawn it was a very private experience. Quiet, save for the sloshing of the water in the tubs in the middle of the room, two rows of porcelain baths filled with warm water and washing soda. Alfred drug the hamper full of robes from its spot against the wall, noting the pile of clothes seemed less full than usual. Maybe this would be a short washing day!

    Alfred hummed to himself, sorting the dirty robes from their capes and underthings. The smell of dried blood from beasts and sinners was so nostalgic. Happy memories of chasing down screaming Vilebloods and crushing them beneath his Kirkhammer passed blissfully through his mind. Such a lucky man he is, blessed with the holy mission of banishing the scum of the world. The washing was such busy work, Alfred found himself sweating, even in his lighter clothes. Rolling up his billowing sleeves and loosing the buttons at the top of his shirt helped. His chest seemed thankful for the extra room.

    Another soft memory drifted through his mind, one of passing on his old robes to a sweet new recruit. Alfred had grown up so much and so quickly, they got handed down to thinner members in no time. He was by no means a small man anymore- he may have been young, but in the years he spent alongside the Executioners he’d filled out. Seeing his hand-me-downs in the piles swirling tubs made Alfred’s chest bubble with pride. Hours passed in silence, Alfred thinking back on cheerful times as he washed the grit, sweat, and blood from the robes. He was sat on a chair, raking the coarse spun fabric over his washboard, putting his back into his work. Alfred reclined with a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead when he heard the chute open again, followed by the soft rustling of clothes sliding down. Someone must have forgotten what day it was, he’d already moved the hamper from the wall.

    What plopped on the ground was perfectly folded, golden and large. Alfred assumed it was a sheet, based on its enormous size, till he got closer. The fabric was luxurious, as he picked up the piece he realized it was it was a robe as it fell open. Not just any robe at that…. This was His robe. His knees buckled, the brush of the fabric over his knuckles, and the feel of the weave… Alfred shook with excitement.

    The fabric flowed so easily over his hands, smooth with glittering flecks - it was mesmerizing. Alfred eased his way to the floor, holding His robes to his chest, bundling the clothes close to him. The cool touch of the fabric spread goosebumps over his skin. Made weak between the steam of the tubs and the chills up his spine, Alfred nearly swooned. He dug his nose into the folds of the fabric and Logarius’ scent crashed into him like a wave. Like being enveloped in holy light, the smell rejuvenated him, made him whole again. He inhaled so deeply he made himself dizzy, pulling back to savor the sensation. His blessed indulgence was unsettled when he felt the throb of sinful interest stab at his loins.

    Alfred tried to shake the thought from his mind. How dirty he was for his thoughts to travel such places while he held a holy article so close to him! He rose carefully, still clutching the robes to his breast and turned to deposit them into a tub. Alfred stood still, peering into the swirling blues and whites of the uniforms and sheets as they washed.

    “No…. This won’t do.”

_These robes are too high quality to be laundered with the common uniforms!_

    The unholy blood still stained the waters. Of course he couldn’t throw his Master’s robes in such a debauched soup. He would wait for these to finish- set the robes aside so he could wash them on their own. Oh, how pleased Master Logarius would be to see him take such good care of His clothing! Surely he would be praised for being so thoughtful! Alfred beamed to himself as he made his way back to the stool where the uniform he had been drying sat abandoned- this would only take a moment. His steps stuttered, and once more Alfred stood still. It was only one robe, then he could start working on Logarius’! He looked over his unfinished work then back at the tubs over his shoulder, still stuck hesitating, wringing the fabric gingerly in his grasp. Surely he’d been working for quite some time- he was nearly done, really- he could take a little break. Alfred’s heart trilled.

_Of course, a break!_

    He mustn’t get tired after all, he could get sloppy, and no one would appreciate unclean robes. Oh, he was such an excellent pupil!

    Alfred sat upon the stool by the washing board, barely restraining his glee as he looked over the robes in his hands once more. The lovingly embroidered pattern emblazoned the back of the cape, carefully stitched and flowing elegantly, what a work of art this was. Marveling at such a piece brought more memories to light; Logarius standing proudly in front of his masses of followers. Alfred stood at His back, beaming as he watched Logarius survey the crowd. He’d been chosen, hand-picked by Logarius Himself, to recite scripture and was patiently waiting his turn to speak. He’d actually missed his cue to step forward with how engrossed he was in Logarius’ light.

    With how warm he felt, he could have easily been enveloped in Logarius’ holy light right now. He couldn’t escape it, and it burned him up from the inside.

_Ah, to be enveloped…_

    Alfred gently lowered the cape over the lip of the tub beside him, taking care it wouldn’t get wet, then held the robe open. He would surely find himself swimming in it.

_It’s always best to try, just to find out._

    Alfred admired the robes slowly, taking in details, carefully, almost afraid Logarius’ face would appear from within to admonish him for wasting time. He chewed the inside of his lip, looking over the golden spun fabric. It wouldn’t do to if he were to sully such fine robes with his work clothes… Alfred set the piece down gently across his lap and a thought popped into his mind. He unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall loose off his shoulders. He couldn’t dirty the robes with his clothes if he simply didn’t wear his clothes. The steam from the tubs still clouded his mind and Alfred found himself unbuttoning his trousers as well, hands stilling once he was standing to place the robes somewhere safe. Indecision weighed heavy in his heart, hands still pinned to his hips. Would it be more or less dirty to be stark naked? A small voice from the back of his mind assured him it was just fine. His pure heart and clean body meant he would leave no mark on Logarius’ holy robes, and if something were to happen, he would soon enough be washing them. Alfred looked to the door. It wouldn’t lock… but no Executioners were keen to visit the laundry room outside of when they were ordered to.

    The sleeves were short on Logarius, only reaching the crook of His elbows, but on Alfred they hung far past his wrists. Alfred put the robe on like it was made of glass, relishing in the feeling of the fabric up his arms, till he was pulling it tight around him. When he stood at his full height the robes still pooled on the floor. It was exhilarating, like being possessed. The warmth seeped into his bones, into his blood. Traitorous blood that it was it swelled again in his loins, stronger with the proximity of the scent and the tantalizing brush of the silken fabric across his skin. Alfred couldn’t shake the inclination anymore. Knowing full well he shouldn’t; he brought the sleeve to his nose. He inhaled the smell, warm- if musky- and let it settle heavily his mind. Absolutely intoxicating.

    Alfred had never seen Logarius in any state of undress, or even any other clothes. For all he knew, these robes were part of Logarius Himself; he simply couldn’t imagine what he would look like in other dress. Alfred shivered at the implication of Logarius’ naked body. How long His legs would be, what would His chest look like? Most importantly, what would-

_No, I mustn't!_

    Alfred thought such a bold thought as if he had any heat behind it. As if he wasn’t indulging himself in the mere thought of Logarius’ bare form open and on display for him. Like getting struck by a bolt from the heavens, Alfred hit the ground on his knees as if in worship. Impure images ravaged his mind; images of His Holiness approaching him, caressing him, resting His hand over his body like His robes did. The smell of Logarius was so strong, it was the kind of comforting scent that set his heart ablaze in a sweet flame. Alfred’s muscles trembled, shaking like a sacrificial lamb in front of an altar, the weight of his sin digging into his back.

    Alfred wasn’t sure when he ended up on the floor, but soon enough he had laid himself out, writhing, wrapped up in Logarius’ robes like a cocoon. Completely overwhelmed with the slightly smoky smell, which was not unlike the candles that lit their chapel. Alfred blindly felt himself up, he ran his hands over his chest, feeling through the folds of the robe to grope at his ample breast. His nipples were so stiff against his palm, each pass causing a wave of electricity to flow through his body. He startled himself with his own moan, clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Was he some kind of slattern? Surely he must be with how he wailed. Like his jaw was unhinged, he couldn’t restrain himself. Alfred slipped a few fingers in his mouth to muffle his groaning. The image of Logarius’ naked form graced his mind and his vision started to fade at the edges.

_Oh!_

    Oh, if only his Master were there! If He would lay His hand upon him and draw the fevered blood from his body! To rid him of his sin with just a touch! How his Master would caress him, how gently He’d slide His hand down Alfred’s chest, how He’d feel his heart flutter in its cage for Him. He would only need touch him and Alfred would be born anew. Alfred dug the heel of his palm into his sternum in a vain recreation what Logarius’ touch must feel like. Shame burned in his cheeks as the thought inspired a moan around his intrusive fingers. If only Logarius would carve him open and rid him of his wicked thoughts! Though with how he reveled in his indulgence he found himself wondering if he even deserved being saved. His master would surely kill him for allowing such a filthy scene to debase their holy church.

    The thought of his Master flaying him open made Alfred all the more aroused. How his skin would split under the crack of Logarius’ whip! His blood would fleck Logarius’ hand. Would He be disgusted? Of course- to see His dear, darling pupil, so thoroughly saturated with sin… There would be no saving him. Only cleansing fire would save his soul. Alfred drooled at the mere suggestion of it. He’d seen Logarius execute one of their own before. In the years since, the Executioner’s sins had long been forgotten, but Alfred could remember the way Logarius stood deathly still, His wheel held between His hands. He looked like a pillar, towering above, His dark eyes somberly serious. Backlit by the blood-red sunset, Logarius had uttered a short prayer before dropping His wheel like a guillotine drops its blade.

    The crunch of the man’s skull still inspired a throb in Alfred’s dick to that day, and he slipped his fingers from his mouth. Slick with spit, his hand wrapped around his cock so deliciously. Alfred pumped his fist over his dick, hissing with relief. He could still hear the skittering of the sinner’s teeth as they scattered across the floor. The way his last breath slid from his blood slicked throat.

_Oh_

How easily that could be him- dear, sweet Alfred, laying still at his Master’s feet. Would His smell grace him even then? The last of each of his senses being filled with his Master. Logarius’ disappointed face the last earthly sight he would be blessed with. The last sensation His wheel cracking his skull into a thousand pieces. Alfred gripped his cock so tight he was almost afraid he’d rip the damned appendage from his body- he’d deserve the amputation with the sinful mess he’d gotten himself into. Alfred groaned heartily into the fabric bunched around his shoulders, messily speeding his pumping with the pre bubbling from the tip. If he weren’t already possessed by lust to the point of immobility, he would be inclined to find something suitable to cram inside himself to sate his need to be filled. Too many nights found Alfred fervently spreading himself open on his fingers- if he weren’t to touch his dick then it wouldn’t be as bad of a sin, surely.

    Alfred wailed and tucked his face into the crook of his arm, awash with pleasure. Oh how he wished his Master would lay His hand upon him! Be it in malice or in ardor, Alfred would take anything his Master would give him. The thought of His hand holding him still, setting his heart alight, then running him through with the blade of a Kirkhammer. Alfred bit into the fabric at his elbow, trying to muffle his moans, but only getting a mouthful of Logarius’ holy robes. The fabric dried his mouth out but even the unpleasant taste of aging silks and satin wasn’t enough to outweigh the rush it gave, the excitement was bright in his blood, coursing like electricity through him and settling in his loins. It must have sounded like Alfred was sobbing with how he dampened his cries, only on a jagged inhale was Alfred quiet enough to hear the cautious footsteps of a compatriot.

    The gentle knock at the door could easily have been death itself coming for him and Alfred would accept it with open arms. He stayed very still, grip on his dick still unrelentingly tight. His fellow Executioner pushed the door open slowly, worried Alfred was under attack. The Executioner called out to him, but he couldn’t see Alfred, hidden as he was in the pool of golden fabric he was draped in. Alfred’s breath was shaky, but trained, staying shallow. He felt the sweat on his back rolling uncomfortably down his skin, unsure what he would say to defend himself when his associate would eventually discover him. The Executioner didn’t walk too far into the room- Alfred was near the back wall, absolutely hidden among the folds of the massive robe. Hope hesitantly washed through him as the executioner looked clear over his prone form, Alfred could see his eyes pass by. The mass of robes perfect camouflage.

    The seconds crawled, sweat making his skin crawl with its slow drag. The Executioner took a few steps into the room, peeking around a few tubs halfheartedly. The tension drummed his heart into such a frenzy Alfred nearly stood and let himself be seen, just to get it over with. The search ended as quickly as it began, the Executioner had sighed, cursing his ears for the false alarm as he closed the door to the laundry behind him. His dick was still hard. Through the entire search he was still hard, the thrill of adrenaline was fresh in his veins. The fear of being discovered pulsed in his straight to his dick. Did the depth of his sin know no bounds? Getting excited at the prospect of one of his brethren discovering his wicked revelry. Alfred moaned through his clenched teeth; yet still clamped down on the robe. He pumped- brain singing with the chemical mix of terror and heady arousal till be was blind to any sense but the grip he had on himself.

_What if it had been Logarius Himself to walk in on him?_

    Alfred’s eyes rolled back, breath only coming out in short grunts around the fabric between his teeth. The flush on his cheeks and the steam from the tubs were oppressive, closing in on him like being trapped in a sack and tossed into a river, inescapable and suffocating. Flashes of red spotted his vision, half formed fantasies of mutilation unable to even be ingested before they thrown out in favor of another. Weapons, words, wounds, a dizzying parade of thoughts flying through his brain till the violence he dreamt of consumed him; a cacophony of visions and gore. His heart was fit to burst, gripped as tightly as his cock was in his fist.

    Alfred was teetering- precarious on the edge.

_Oh_ \- if it _were_  Logarius-

    If it _were Logarius _-__

_Oh-!_

    Alfred screamed his Master’s name loudly enough to startle a few crows outside.

    He lay limp on the floor for what felt like eons, boneless with bliss. Alfred’s jaw had to be worked slowly, still holding the holy robes in a vice grip. When he finally had the strength to sit up he found himself still alone in the washroom, tubs quietly steaming and swirling. His head felt thick with sleep, blinking dumbly as he surveyed the room. Raising his hand to rub at his eye he caught a glimpse at the evidence of his sin, spattered lewdly across his palm; and just past his hand, stark white on gold caught Alfred’s eye. Before terror could seat itself in his heart properly Alfred caught the thundering of Executioners descending the stairs outside. He must have startled more than a few birds with his wails.

    The Holy order of Executioners were well known for their compassion for one another, a tight knit group unlike any other. Where one fell, two would rise to help. Dear Alfred’s cries roused the hearts of his comrades, and with vengeance they were flying to his aid.


End file.
